New
Orleans Hash House Harriers
Hash No. 942
The Fifty Second Week after Katrina
Hares:Li’l
Cocky & Two Picketts To Titsburg
Date: 7 August 2006

Venue:The
House of Two Pickets To Titsburg in Metairie the Americanized
Suburb of New Orleans, Louisiana

The Trail:Beneath benign clouds in a blue sky in air
that was not exceptionally hot, but hot nonethe­less, the pack of hounds
departed the digs of Two Pickets and Li’l Cocky on
Ridgeway Street heading southward for a block, a left and a right to he par­allel
street to a little bridge and a false trail on the other side, back again on a
zigzag course that led to Veteran’s Boulevard, along same to the
city-block-sized vacant lot to Ridgelake.The trail led the hounds to a treacherous
crossing of Causeway Boulevard to, and through, Lakeside Mall to the beer check
on the far side near Penney’s.

From the beer
check, the trail led the pack back across Causeway and a short jog back to the
placed of the start and the On-in.

The Circle:
Religious advisors: Piston Penis and Dental Damsel

New Boots:Blowing Seaman’s GF, Just Leslie, who lives
in Waggaman.

Reboots:Blowing Seaman

The Hares and the Trail:Of the trail it was said that it featured
far too few stores and one harrierette stated that
there was allowed far too little time to shop.Some declared that the trail was so lame that one could do it on roller
blades.

Awards:Your faithful scribe, On Da
Rag, received the award for two hundred Hashes, that
award being the traditional wall sculpture by Father Scumbag.Spread ‘Em serenaded with an adequately obscene song.

Visitors: manporn.cum, a NOH3 expatriate.

Party Crashers:Li’l Cocky had
invited some of his friends to see what his other friends look like so Just Kim
and Just Mark showed up.

Travelers: Super
Bitch and MrBinky had just
re­turned from a trip through Europe.

Non-Bead Wearing
Hashers:All who neglected to wear their
Hash Beads with seniority blings in spite of Dental
Damsel’s threats to neuterize for not doing so were
called to the cir­cle for a down-down.

Most Notable On-On-In:Li’l Cocky out-did
him ­self with salsa and chips for an electrolyte snack, some wonderful
home-cooked chili, a tray full of chocolate-chip cookies, also homemade.

attend the next Hash
and make arrange­ments with the Religious advisor to bring it up in the circle.

Run #943Run #943

Hares: Ride My Pony and ????

August 21, 2006

First,
let me get this out of the way for the home brewers/turkey fryers in the house:http://neworleans.craigslist.org/zip/198101737.html.
Now then. It was all a day of acting: Knave and I arrived
at the box, the gym at the corner of Harrison and Marconi, to find a derelict
passed out in his car. Fearful of what might happen if we stayed, Knave
graciously offered to give me a car tour of that end of the park. We stopped to
admire the horses at the stables on Franklin and stopped again to lament the
ruins of a snowball stand. Knave laid down some sort of bulky offering at each,
I couldn’t tell what it was, and then we went back. By this time, Tidy Bowl Man
was there to protect us against the bum, who turned out to be Chicken Pot Guy.

Things
picked up when a new boot in a stunning purple-feathered hat strolled out from
the car of Releash Me, who portrayed the evening’s
soccer mom and drove away because she had more important things to do. When
asked to describe the strange word on the back of her shorts, Just Antoinette
explained that since the costume of the evening was supposed to be one’s favorite ass, “callipygian” seemed to be appropriate. Google it. Her anatomy was upstaged only by the arrival of
Doc Cousteau and a crazed, anti-Semitic Scottish warrior who bore a vague
resemblance to one-third of the Blue Man Group or Dental Damsel, and that was
only because Turbo Mardi was in tow. It was soon discovered, much to everyone’s
chagrin, that Knave turned out to be playing the role
of hare. After giving Knave his requisite six minutes, Ass Dandruff, Warrior
Princess, CPG and the newly returned Manporn.cum gave
chase, and the walkers ­–including
Bleeding Paloma and High Beams, Wet Blow, Sucks‘Em Raw, Twinkle Twat, Lusty Lady and Olympic Cock
Ring – very convincingly acted like they’d rather swallow battery acid than
follow a PSK trail. How right they were.

The
pack’s hopes rose as flour was spotted roadside heading toward the lake, but as
our luck would have it, trail soon turned east into the prairie deluding itself
that it was a golf course. After a perilous creek crossing on a log (that for
some ended unsuccessfully, see later), matters quickly degraded as we got pulled
over by the cops at the NOPD stables. Smarting from the cuts of vines and dripping
from a creek crossing sans bridge, several of us quietly fled, leaving Jackoff Lantern to explain. Once we’d lost his eagle eyes,
CPG, Warrior Princess, Ass Dandruff and I had trouble negotiating the trail
because nearly every tree appeared to be marked with flour until you got within
three feet of it. Finally we made our way out of the peril and into the beer
check at the former Bayou Oaks Golf Club.

Meanwhile,
Hansel (Hand Job) and Gretel (Piston Penis) seemed to have ample time from
herding hordes of possum to live up to each of their respective names and take
a “Brokeback Mountain” moment on Fag Island, as they
were spotted holding each other’s hand skipping into the beer check; with
hardly any pause they chugged their beverages and skipped away again into the
quickly falling sunset. The second half of trail was unremarkable except for
the fact that it was about three miles shorter than everyone expected and that
evidently Manporn felt like a pussy shortcutting the
first half and so in the final 400 yards he dutifully followed the marks along
the retaining wall instead of taking the road, thereby adding 20 minutes.

Although
it seemed like she’d been doing nothing but prancing around in tarty little camo shorts (incidently, she’s kinda
callipygian too if you know what I mean), Ride My Ass, I mean Pony had been
busy in the kitchen like a good bitch and still had time to pick up stragglers
on trail. She served the hungry with a filo-dough
spinach thing and an eggplant, moussaka-like thing,
and red wine, and High Beams had brought food from the previous weekend’s
party, so it was all good. However, she was made to remain on her nees and drink whenever the RA told her to as payback for
her choice of mystery hare.

In
the circle, it was discovered that Tighty Whitey had
a birthday the next day, and so was made to imitate a birthday cake (with some
help) and then forced to remain there slowly congealing into a doughy mass
while Gooey Blow, in a Newsweek photog moment,
wrestled with the camera. International House of Vagina showed her cuntinental side by doing her best impression of a
disaffected, French, non-writer of a Full Moon hash trash, incessantly
chain-smoking and muttering things like, “You all are fuckeeengpeegs…ahnd I love eeet.” At this point Jackoff
Lantern and Mrs. Lantern, still with stars in their eyes after all these weeks,
snuck off to be alone, an excellent choice of timing because some crazed,
anti-Semitic Scottish warrior who bore a vague resemblance to one-third of the
Blue Man Group started shouting about beads and blood and Welshmen, which prompted
Ice Balls to show the results of what happens when you try to have an

orgy on a log over a creek. Puppy Pumper,
in town for an unprecedented 10-day conjugal visit, and party crasher Butt
Gravy, en route to Baja, both leaped upon the crazed, anti-Semitic Scottish
warrior as they defended Wales’ honor. Which makes no sense
to me seeing how they’re both Irish. This Erin Go Brouhaha had little
interest for Cockwork Orange and his little friend,
who took phone calls during the ruckus. Or maybe they were calling in the Coast
Guard.That’s exactly how I remember it,

SE

One
final word: if you see me in front of you and I’m not calling “On On,” that means I’m not on trail no matter how fast or slow
I may be skating. And if you see me flapping my arms up and down, like a bird’s
wings, that means I’m “flying,” (Guam) or “zenning”
(Austin - go figure) aka LOST, so don’t follow me unless you’re a glutton for
unnecessary punishment or feeling extremely lucky. And don’t ask me if I’m on. Because I’ll tell you.